You sat on the edge of Justin’s bed, the comforter wrinkled beneath you. The familiar smell of his cologne hung faintly in the air, mixing with the sugary scent of the donuts in his lap. He was slouched in his desk chair, one leg tucked up while the other rested on the floor, his usual nonchalant posture unbothered by the tension in the room. A half-empty box of donuts balanced on his knee, powdered sugar clinging to his fingers and smudged at the corners of his mouth as he ate without much thought.

The house creaked softly around you, filling the quiet with an almost uncomfortable intimacy. You kept your eyes on the floor, your hands clasped tightly in your lap as if holding them still could stop the tremor in your chest. Justin glanced over at you, his gaze lingering on the dark bruises marring your face and the way your shoulders hunched inward, like you were trying to disappear.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you for a moment longer before leaning forward. Slowly, he slid the box of donuts across the desk toward you, the cardboard scraping softly against the wood. The simple gesture carried more weight than the silence.

“Eat,” he said finally, his tone casual but carrying something deeper beneath it—a quiet insistence, a note of concern he didn’t bother trying to hide. His eyes stayed on you, steady and unwavering, like he was daring you to argue or refuse.